


Reverie

by moanerlisa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moanerlisa/pseuds/moanerlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davyn Hawke realizes that leaving and being left behind hurt all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> Alas, Davyn Hawke does not belong to me and neither does Fenris. I like to think Fenris a free man, though at the end of the day he still belongs to Bioware. Oops.

Davyn wakes up with a jolt. A pang of guilt in his head throbbing like he’s had one too many drinks. Only he’s sober- much too sober. Covering him are sheets that once covered another, someone who left. Someone who he doesn’t know will return to him. It dawns on him that there wasn’t much conversation that night. No, there was much left unsaid and too little left untouched.

Barely able to set two feet on the ground without feeling guilty, Davyn stumbles out of bed and lands with a heady thump. It’s a pathetic sight, he knows. He smiles despite himself and thinks how Fenris would snort derisively at the sight of Davyn, wearing only ill-fitting smalls, thrashing about on the lush carpet. It hurts too much to think of, so he starts looking for a solution. Muffins.

It’s not a well thought out plan, Davyn knows, but Fenris left- _Fenris left_. A familiar throbbing begins in his head again, and he realizes he can’t quit wracking himself with guilt long enough to walk down the stairs without tripping, so he asks Bodahn for their finest wine and bread. Before Orana can finish tying the red ribbon she had adorned the wine in, Davyn is stumbling out the door with the basket in tow.

Davyn runs. Rather, he dry heaves and bumps his shoulders with frumpy noblewoman’s breasts and offers a rushed apology as he continues towards Fenris’ mansion. “It’s not that it can’t end like this. If this is the end, this is the end.” Davyn thinks, “but this won’t be end of our friendship. “ It’s all he can think about. Fenris.

With renewed vigor, Davyn’s strides get wider and soon he is at Fenris’ doorstep. He takes a moment to compose himself, to make it seem as if he didn’t sprint across Hightown to deliver food. He smiles to himself, thinking he’s falling back on the same old tricks. Food won’t solve everything, never did. A fresh loaf of bread doesn't make dead sisters any less cold.

It occurs to him as he’s grasping his kneecaps with his palms- hunched over like the child he feels he is, crying over skinned knees and pricked fingers. “Fenris might want to be alone.” Davyn realizes this as his fist hovers over the mansion’s gaudy door. He lets his arm drop and stares at the distance between them. Realizing the distance between them cannot be cleared in a few strides from one mansion to the other. These are wounds that will take lifetimes to scab over, and even then blood still pools into his palms.

Dejectedly, Davyn heads over the Hanged Man and even there he cannot muster the strength to lift his chin and smile at the patrons. It’s not till Isabela catches his eye, or rather, she flags him down from across the room and offers him a coy look and an ale. He offers a weak smile now, knowing Isabela will ask for answers, and damn it all, she will get them no matter how many drinks it takes.

Davyn idly takes a sip and makes it a point to keep his gaze steady, comments on Corff’s new haircut and tries to keep an air of nonchalance. When he steels his face into an easy smile he notices Isabela holding her face in her hands and looking at him expectantly. She is waiting. He takes another sip and relents.

Davyn bites. “Well?” he asks, his voice level.

“ _Well_.” Isabela purrs suggestively. She catches his eye and manages to hold Davyn’s gaze before he inevitably turns away. He asks Corff for another drink.

Isabela smirks and laughs to herself. “Slow down there, sweet thing. You haven’t even gotten to the naughty bits yet.” She studies Davyn’s face and sees none of the easy charm she expected. Without a smile, Davyn looked like the worn hero Varric told in his tales. Isabela continues tentatively, “There _were_ naughty bits right?”

This time Davyn doesn’t hear her. He’s swilling his drink and gazing into his mug idly. “Naughty bits,” he says to himself. He remembers Fenris teeth grazing his thigh, the way Fenris’ voice would become nothing but a low rumble when Davyn nipped at his ears. These are thoughts all his own, but right now he’d rather not have them.

Isabela can read it all over Davyn’s face, from the lack of details and his own dejected state, and she knows all too well how he feels. To be shut out. Thinking time spent moping to be time is time spent wasted, Isabela sighs to herself and decides to go easy on him tonight. Maker knows he needs it.

“Drinks on me tonight, big guy. You’re not leaving here till we both can’t walk straight.” Isabela gives him a reassuring slap on the back and orders another round of drinks.

“To Hawke.” Isabela proclaims and the entire bar is filled with drunken mumbles and enthused yelling. Davyn smiles shyly, and raises his mug meekly and feels the ale burn the back of his throat, all at once painful and warm, and allows himself to feel without shame. Tomorrow doesn't have to be the same.


End file.
